Vindication
by Mochilicious
Summary: When salon owner and Vizard gang leader Ichigo re-enters Rukia's life, she strangely can't remember her childhood friend at all. Ichigo doesn't know why; he just knows she's hurt...except Rukia won't reveal her secrets, especially not to a "stranger."
1. Chapter 1

The higher up you are, the harder you will fall.

And everything's a weapon, a way to make you fall.

A razor, drawn across the wrist. A pillow pressed over the face. A rope around the neck. A bridge to jump off of.

And words, to push her over the edge. But sometimes it's the lack of words that could stop her from pushing herself over.

* * *

Kuchiki Rukia was tired. She trudged toward the gates of Karakura High School, her friends chattering around her. She put on a mask and smiled back at them, engaging herself in their conversation every once in a while, but once they reached the edge of the property, she lifted her hand in a welcome goodbye.

Her friends were perfect, her life in school was perfect, so Rukia often asked herself why things were still so difficult.

And she knew, of course. It was just that difficult staying at the top. People looked up to her in both jealousy and admiration. First, two of the hottest guys at school were fighting over her, and second, she was pretty, and third, she had pretty friends who always had her back. So basically, from outside the window, Rukia had the perfect high school life, and yet she still felt empty inside. She was a beautiful and delicate brick mansion, but with opaque glass windows too clouded to see inside to the broken furniture, because nobody could see past the windows into the room that contained her life outside of school.

Yes, she could talk to her friends, but yet she couldn't. She was isolated at the top of the ladder, and should she fall, there were hundreds of hungry vultures that would fly and fight their way up to take her place. And as much as she wanted to prevent that fall from happening, she knew it was always a possibility, a chance, a storm cloud hanging in a gray sky where things were never clear.

But Rukia knew there was a way to stop it; she'd always known. After all, a beautiful mansion that nobody wants or cares about eventually crumbles to nothing. All she had to do was to quicken that process.

* * *

As usual, things were quite hectic at the Rolling Star Salon. Kurosaki Ichigo hurriedly ushered yet another customer to a chair, behind which a rather impatient-looking Hiyori was standing, glaring at him. He gave the customer a hasty smile before leaving the poor man to the wrath of Hiyori and going to tend to the other customers.

Shinji stood behind a customer, working wonders on her once-scraggly hair. He shot a toothy grin at Ichigo, who nodded at him to get to work. Love and Rose were quarreling in a corner over what hairstyle and what color Rose's current customer should get. Love wanted to perm her hair and dye it brown, but Rose seemed stubbornly set on dying it orange. "Like Ichigo's," he said with finality. Love threw his hands up in defeat and stalked away to work on creating new ads, shaking his head with disbelief. Meanwhile, Hachi sat behind the desk, hunched over some papers. Every once in a while, he would call Ichigo over to report on the finances of the salon. Mashiro sat before a customer, painting her nails with precise and deft strokes. She stuck out her tongue in concentration. Kensei was busy cutting away at some man's hair. He had always been surprisingly adept with scissors and a razor, and before long, the man looked at his reflection and smiled at Kensei with satisfaction. Outside, Lisa, deliberately dressed in a short skirt and low-cut top, changed the posters covering the windows of the salon. Sometimes, when passer-bys stopped to watch, she would turn around and smile suggestively at them. Hiyori had finally finished with the first customer and was pulling the next one to her chair, her perpetual frown covering her face. And Ichigo, finally finished with welcoming the new customers, stood at the door, hard brown eyes sweeping the bustling scene before him.

They were a motley and unlikely crew, a conglomerate of the strangest people you might find on the streets of Karakura Town, but they were efficient and most of all, there were damn good. The rest of the town could testify to that fact. The Rolling Star Salon had put all other salons within the area out of business despite having only two-and-a-half years of business under its belt.

Ichigo didn't quite understand what kept the customers coming back. Sure they were good, but he didn't think they were good enough to put everyone else within a forty-mile radius out of business. He figured it must be the group dynamic that was so attractive. Or maybe it was just the weirdness and craziness factor. After all, it wasn't everyday that people saw green or pink-haired teens, or little girls with the tempers of bears and the skills of grown women.

* * *

Rukia climbed up the fire escape, ignoring the fatigue that was setting in. Besides, it would be over soon. She watched as the ground fell away below her.

* * *

Ichigo was about to attend to the newest customer, but suddenly, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. The hair at the back of his neck stood up, and he knew something was wrong. Looking around, he saw Lisa staring at him from outside the windows, a similar confused but worried look in her usually mocking eyes. Damn, that girl always knew what he was thinking. She was probably more in tune with him that Shinji was, and that was saying something.

"I'll take her," Lisa said, walking inside and leading the woman to the one empty chair. "You go. Do whatever."

Ichigo nodded at her, grateful, and then exited the room through the back door that led up to the two apartment rooms that the gang shared. But he didn't stop at their doors. Instead, he rushed down the short hallway to the ladder that led up to the roof, pushing open the trapdoor labeled "roof access" in large red letters.

He poked his head through into the crisp air of the autumn afternoon, and stopped. Across him, on the edge of the roof was a girl balanced precariously on her tiptoes, her black hair swirling around her in the wind and her face turned upwards to a sun that was not there.

* * *

**A/N:** Alrighty, so this is the beginning of a rather angsty fanfiction I wrote years ago about a different fandom. I never finished it though, and this time, I think I've planned it out much better and I'm planning to finish it. Oh, and if you couldn't tell, Ichigo is leader of the Vizards, who run the Rolling Star Salon. Rukia is a student. Bear with me; there'll be lots of little twists and things, so keep your eyes open for hints of Rukia and Ichigo's past and their secrets!


	2. Chapter 2

For the first—no, maybe second—time of his life, Ichigo was speechless. Then his brain went into panic mode and he jumped out onto the roof, running toward the girl, who still hadn't moved.

"O-o-oi," he shouted. "Hey!" The girl whipped around, teetering dangerously, before she saw him.

"W-wha? I—eh?" And that was all she managed before wilting. Her legs gave out under her, and although she was falling safely away from the edge, Ichigo still rushed to catch her in his arms before she could hit the concrete rooftop. She landed with a soft thud, but Ichigo felt as if he were catching air; there was no weight in his arms at all.

When he looked down, he found himself staring into the deepest, blackest eyes he had ever seen. A few wisps of black hair meandered over the girl's face, and the rest of it cascaded over Ichigo's arm. The look in her eyes was bewildered, sad, and perhaps something else, something that Ichigo couldn't place. But this face, there was something about it. Something…if only he could remember.

The girl wiped a finger over the corner of her eye. Ichigo wondered if it was sweat, or maybe tears, or maybe she just didn't believe she was actually seeing him clearly.

Ichigo awkwardly pulled the girl to her feet. "So, uh, what were you doing up there? Y'know, you could've died."

The girl was silent, but she looked over the edge, a calculation. It was enough for Ichigo. The discomfort in the atmosphere suddenly shot up. For the first time, Ichigo saw the unbearable sadness in her eyes, the weariness in the way she carried herself, as if she held an invisible load upon her shoulders. Without thinking, his eyes jumped to her wrist, and somehow he was not surprised to find a single red line, faded but real, hidden under a jade bracelet. The girl, feeling his gaze on her arm, shifted so her sleeve covered her hand.

Ichigo was speechless. He wracked his brain for words of comfort, a comeback, or anything that would just break this unwanted silence. "Uh. Um, y'know, that'll be five dollars for using our property." Ichigo mentally slapped himself as soon as the words came out of his mouth. This was clearly not the right time; even he knew that. But to his surprise, the girl didn't start crying. She didn't show any signs of breaking down.

Instead, she lifted her head and smiled up at him, a deep, genuinely grateful smile. "Thanks."

Ichigo's eyes widened. That smile! He could never forget that smile, the way her eyes arched up and tapered at the edges and the way that golden glow spread slowly over her whole face—_that face that could always cheer him up after he'd been picked last for tag_—no, he could never forget. "R-Rukia…? Kuchiki Rukia?" He said tentatively. "No way…" It must be her. She had that same smile. "D-do you remember me? I'm Kurosaki Ichigo."

The girl's own eyes widened, confirming Ichigo's suspicions. "How did you know my name?" And then of course, the inevitable, "Do I know you?"

Ichigo sighed. The last time they'd seen each other was years ago, so he figured that explaining might take a while. "Yeah, you do. But let's go inside first." He took her awkwardly by the hand and led her back through the roof and down the ladder. He cringed on the inside. He was a gang leader, dammit. So what was he doing?

* * *

Rukia sat on the couch, clammy hands clutching a cup of hot tea. A warm woolen blanket was wrapped around her shoulders for comfort. Rukia didn't know whether it was the steam from the coffee or her own thoughts that made a tear run down her cheek and drip into the cup.

Her eyes roamed over the room once more. Photos, drawings, and pieces of handkerchiefs or napkins were tacked up randomly all over the drab gray and peeling walls, contrasting color with monotone black and white. Rukia could have sworn she had seen a gum wrapper somewhere but she'd forgotten where it was by now, even though she'd counted the items on the wall at least three times since she got here. There were exactly two hundred.

To Rukia, it looked as if someone had tried to cover up the once ugly room with better things. But you could still see the ugly through the pretty. Not much unlike herself, Rukia thought. She was just able to cover it up better; she learned over the years to jam up the nooks and crannies with whatever she had.

The creak of the floorboards alerted her to somebody's presence. She looked up to see—what was his name?—Ichigo walk in with a chipped plate of crackers. He set it down on the table before crashing on the couch across from her. He sank deep into the worn cushions, throwing his arms across the back, and scrutinizing Rukia with a disturbingly intense gaze. Rukia shivered as it passed over her; she felt as if she were being probed and judged.

Finally, Ichigo leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees with a set look on his face. "So," he began. "First of all, I'm sorry about the condition of this place, but it's all we've got."

Rukia shook her head. "No, it's fine."

Ichigo's mouth twitched up in a tiny smile. "Alright then. Second. I want you to take good look at me and tell me if you remember anything at all." He sat up a little straighter for her.

Rukia looked into his face, into his angled brown eyes, at the high cheekbones and sharp, defined jaw, at the bright orange hair spiked into points. Her forehead wrinkled as she dug into her memories, but she couldn't recall anything. After a few minutes of silence, she shook her head slowly. "Nope. There's nothing. What are you getting at?"

"Well, basically, we used to know each other," Ichigo said with a sigh. "Y'know, when we were young? We were actually…best friends." He cringed as he said the words, but he recalled everything clearly and distinctly. He remembered the dark street they lived on, with its numerous stray cats and mice. He remembered the schoolyard and its myriad of scattered toys. "Remember? We used to…play together at lunch, and I," he laughed thinking about it now—how things had changed. "I'd get beaten up by the older kids and I never got picked when we played tag. But you always cheered me up by the end of the day, and we'd walk home together. And then…I moved away, and I thought that was the end until now I guess. I never expected to see you here though." He shrugged, watching her expression. He expected to see some spark of recognition, something, anything that told him that she believed him, but all she could do was stare at him with an expression of absolute confusion.

Rukia shook her head again. She could not remember anything about this boy at all. She couldn't remember ever meeting a boy with orange hair and sharp brown eyes, not to mention recall cheering him up and being best friends with him. She kneaded her knuckles into her forehead, thoroughly confused. She had a feeling that Ichigo was telling the truth; his genuine smile and concern told her that. But still…

Ichigo's face fell. "Nothing? Nothing at all? I mean, doesn't my name at least ring a bell?"

"Nope."

Ichigo resisted the urge to curse. He couldn't believe it. "Then if you can't remember anything I've told you, then tell me what you remember from your childhood. The earliest memories you've got."

Rukia frowned, thinking back. "Mm…there's not much. Everything's hazy. I just know that I went to school and—yes. Yeah, that's all." She looked at Ichigo, who was still staring at her in disbelief. "What," she snapped. "If you're waiting for me to have some kind of epiphany here, I'm sorry but it's not going to happen. I really can't remember anything."

Ichigo looked away. This was impossible. Either that, or something was wrong, he concluded. And since the impossible couldn't really happen, he assumed that something was wrong. Something happened after he left, and he didn't know what, but he was determined to figure Rukia out. She had changed, for sure. No longer was she the optimistic little girl he once knew; she now had a different air about her, as if she were superior on the outside, but inside, she was swelled to almost bursting.

"Rukia, what happened?" It was a general question, but it struck Rukia the way Ichigo wanted it to. Her eyes dropped and her jaw clenched. Clearly, something triggered by the question was bothering her. She stayed sitting in that position for a minute, until a clear, crisp ringtone interrupted their conversation.

Rukia hastily dug for her cellphone in the pocket of her jeans, mouthing an apology to Ichigo as she looked at the screen. The caller ID read "Mom." She flipped it open.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was urgent and caustic, one that Rukia had come to dread. "Kuchiki Rukia, where have you been?"

Rukia's voice dropped almost to a whisper, so that her mother could barely hear it. "I—just…around. School ran late today."

"You're lying," her mother hissed. "Get home now, and I want you to cook and clean up a bit. Your father's—," she broke off in the middle of her sentence, and went into a coughing fit. Rukia waited because she knew her mother hated interruptions. She could imagine her mother, buried under a pile of blankets, the coughs shaking her frail body. After some time, the coughs subsided and her mother continued. "As I was saying, your father's having some difficulties now. I need you around, so hurry." There was a click, and the call disconnected. Rukia sighed as she slowly dropped the phone back in her pocket.

"Who was it?"

Rukia turned, startled to see Ichigo still there. "My mom. She wants me to go home now." Rukia picked up her bag from the couch beside her and slung it over her shoulder. "I gotta go, so I'll see you around, Kurosaki Ichigo…maybe." Without waiting, she opened the front door of the apartment and left.

Ichigo shuddered at the way she said his name, like she didn't know him at all. Like he was a complete stranger.

* * *

**_To my reviewers:_**

**anika103**: Thank you for your interest! And I certainly hope I'll finish too.  
**Thornspike**: Thank you! I actually got the salon/hairdresser idea from my visit to a salon in China. It was interesting...lots of interesting hairstyles and colors :P  
**falconrukichi**: Thanks! Yeah, Ichigo owns the saloon and he basically leads the Vizards xD I'll try my best!  
**DeviantHollow23**: Aw thank you! I wanted to write something different, maybe more complicated and twisted. It's got a lot of inspirations behind it, so I'll definitely try to keep going.

**A/N:** Yay! Two chapters in two days, not bad for me. But school is busy and all my other activities just make it worse, so I probably won't be updating that often, maybe once a few days or so, but I'll try to keep pushing and keep the inspiration flowing. Basically, if you can't tell, Rukia's completely forgotten Ichigo, who knows that they used to be best friends and doesn't get why Rukia can't remember that. And you get a glimpse of Rukia's home life in this chapter. Fun stuff... I'm also sorry about some of the OOC-ness; clearly Rukia is very rarely depressed like this and Ichigo rarely has to do comforting of this sort. I just imagined that he'd be the awkward and nice kind of guy. Hope it's not _too_ OOC!


	3. Chapter 3

Rukia left the salon quickly and quietly, keeping her head low as she shuffled through the streets. People were out there, and she didn't want them to see her at her lowest, when she was most vulnerable. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets as a cool breeze swept around her and glanced back at the salon with its now lit windows and bustling activity. One of the girls, dressed in a rather revealing—no, almost slutty—outfit was putting up posters outside. She shook her head in wonder. None of the girls at school, not even the most desperate ones, would dress like that, let alone in this cold weather.

What puzzled her even more was how her supposed "childhood best friend" could hang around these people. She had seen them, with their assortment of insane hair colors and unconventional looks. But then again, who was she to judge? She had her own quirks, her own secrets, and her own ways. In that sense, she was worse than them; at least they weren't afraid to show themselves as they were. As for herself…Rukia shivered at the thought of how cowardly she really was.

And then there was the question of this Ichigo guy. He claimed to know her, to be her best friend even, and Rukia inwardly scoffed at the idea. She may be insecure, but she was Kuchiki Rukia, the most well-known student currently attending Karakura High. There was no way she would or could let herself associate—even if she wanted to—with these people. But still, the boy's earnest pleas and desperation had to derive from something. Perhaps he had mistaken her for somebody else. Perhaps…Rukia shook her head, trying to brush the thoughts away from her, but they were too real, too possible and yet impossible, for her to ignore. They hovered, another waiting vulture, around her.

The condominium Rukia lived in with her parents could hardly be considered a home. From the outside, it was an elegant structure, tall and white and strong, matching the similar buildings that lined the streets next to it. But on the inside, the place was another story. It told of anger, sadness, resentment, and frustration all penned up behind one door, wreaking havoc upon the structure and the people inside. Rukia entered the house quickly, in case all those destructive forces might leak out through the open door. Inside, the place was dimly lit and dusty despite Rukia's repeated but half-hearted attempts to clean it. It didn't help that this hurricane of uneasiness was constantly tearing the already unstable family down, albeit slowly. But Rukia lived, at least so far.

She had barely set her bag down by the closet before she heard her mother's screeching noise amid the lazy snores of her father.

"Rukia, is that you?" Another onslaught of coughing. "Go make something to eat now!"

Rukia sighed and made her way to the kitchen, pushing aside a couple piles of scattered papers as she did so. The kitchen was nearly empty, mostly devoid of any edible food. Rukia did manage to find a few cans of soup behind the microwave though. She grabbed two and trudged up the stairs to her mother's room.

Her mother was sitting up in bed, propped up against two pillows, her frail form covered in a robe and blanket. "What?" She rasped as she turned to Rukia with haunted eyes. The woman slept nearly the whole time she was home, and yet, she looked as if she had not slept for months. "Can't you get something ready to eat without my help?"

Rukia looked down at the cans she had brought and lifted them slowly. "No, um, I just wanted to know whether you would rather have chicken broth or miso soup."

Her mother looked at her incredulously. "I don't care. You should know that by now. Just pick something."

"Okay." Rukia returned to the kitchen and heated up the pot on the stove before pouring in the contents of the canned chicken broth. She leaned back against the counter and stared up wearily. _What a life_, she thought sarcastically. Checking the soup once more, she went to the living room, where her father was sleeping on a couch. Well, he wasn't completely on it anymore. With another sigh, Rukia lifted his head and shoulders and heaved him back onto the cushions with a grunt. Then she cleared away the bottles of sake and beer on the table.

To be honest, Rukia hated this. She despised having to do all these unnecessary things for her family, for her useless mother and father. She didn't want to think of them in that way, especially not her mother since it wasn't her fault, but she couldn't help it. She clenched her fists. What a sad and selfish individual she was. A small tear dropped into the broth as she lifted the lid of the pot, and the floodgates opened. Rukia was outright crying by the time she brought her mother the soup and locked herself in her room, overwhelmed by everything. Her family, her less-than-lovely "home", her faking, her suicide attempt, and on top of all that, she had gotten herself tangled in someone else's memories.

"You idiot," Rukia whispered to herself through gasping sobs. "You're an absolute mess." And there was no way out of it.

* * *

**_To my reviewers:_**

danni55: Thank you! I hope this will help your opinion of it :)  
**falconrukichi:** Oooh...you might be close...and maybe not :3 I won't reveal anything yet! Thank you!  
**famartin:** Thanks for reading it!

**A/N: **Well, a month sure passes quick, eh? Sorry, I was overwhelmed by schoolwork (I'm on break now). We had nine essays to do for this book in English. Fun stuff. Well, this chapter's a bit slow as you can see, but I think the plot will really get moving after this...at least I hope so. We'll see. I was originally gonna put more into this chapter but I decided not to cram it in. I'll just let Rukia do her reflecting XP Enjoy, and comments are love!


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